“I do remember you,” he protested, chords of memory vibrating tremulously and melodiously. “I had the pleasure of meeting you at a garden-party some years ago.”
“But you don’t remember my name?”
“I don’t think I caught it then,” he said, simply. “But I remember you scolded me because my pictures were only beautiful.”
She laughed gayly.
“Ah, then I ought to apologize to you. I have changed my mind.”
“Now you don’t think they’re even that!”
“Far from it! What I mean is that I have come to think less of useful things. You know I was a Socialist then. But let me introduce my friend to you.”
“You have to introduce yourself first, Nor,” said a younger lady whom he then perceived at her side.
He smiled.
“You are irrepressible, Olive,” said her friend. “Mr. Strang, let me introduce myself then—Mrs. Wyndwood.”